


Path of a Wandering Woman

by WriteLiar



Category: Wheel of Time - Robert Jordan
Genre: F/M, Suicidal Thoughts, implied rape
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:07:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24114025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriteLiar/pseuds/WriteLiar
Summary: Alone, starving, Powerless, Martine Janata stumbles through Ebou Dar. She is fleeing a life that is lost to her, but a new life may seize by the scruff of the neck if she doesn't embrace death first
Relationships: Setalle/Jasfer
Comments: 3
Kudos: 6





	1. Standing in the Rain

**Author's Note:**

> "but Aes Sedai expect that when... certain things... happen, the woman will go away decently and die soon after. I went away, but Jasfer found me half starved and sick on the streets of Ebou Dar and took me to his mother."  
> Setalle Anan  
> Knife of Dream, Chapter 9

Martine could not feel the cold rain that hit her head, running through her matted hair and down her face. She did not know when the rain had started, but her clothes were soaked down to her shift, sticking them to her skin. Her feet were bare; the boots stolen and the stockings worn through some time ago. The eaves of the shop that she huddled under did little to shelter her from the rain.

Her breaths came shallowly through parted lips. A cough fit seized her suddenly. It was horse, croaking sound that robbed her of air. It had been so long since she had caught a cold, Martine had not realized she was ill until it settled in her chest. That was back when she first entered the city. She tried to take a breath, but she sucked in rain water that dribbled down her face and the coughing continued with new force. When they finally subsided, her head slumped to her rest on her knees. She did not see the spots of blood that peppered her tattered skirt.

She leaned on her side and looked around the corner of the building, down the alley which would have provided a dryer place to crouch. The scurrying sounds in the alley stopped abruptly and three sets of desperate eyes locked on her. Quickly, she scooted away from the corner.

Her breath came out in a wheeze.

It was dangerous to infringe on a scavenger’s territory in any city and even more so in Ebou Dar. Even the beggars were a part of a guild here. A few guild members had roughed her up in her first week in the city, but Martine had never begged in Ebou Dar, though she looked the part. Why would she ask for food or money when she did not have a reason to keep living?

She certainly did not pose a threat, but that would not keep the man from possibly abandoning the trash heap and dragging her into the alley. She had learned that in her first week, too. A single shiver racked her body and she pressed herself against the brick wall. If she was attacked again, she knew she did not have the strength of will or strength of body to resist. As if she had had any way to resist before.

_With the Power…_

That thought was distant and unclear, like most of her thoughts. Not that long ago, thinking of the Power – the Power she no longer had – would nearly double her over in uncontainable grief. It was too great a loss to bear. Not just the loss of sweet Saidar, but the loss of everything that made her who she was. She used to be able to feel the cold of the rain, the ache of hunger, or the fear of assault. Now she felt nothing. Nothing she felt or thought could change what had happened to her.

_Burned out… Not Aes Sedai… Not anything…_

“I said get out of here, you mangy tramp!” It was a woman’s voice, “Your lurking will frighten my custom away!”

A straw broom whacked her on the head and again on the back. Crawling did not seem fast enough for the woman – the blows kept coming on her shoulders and rear – so Martine stumbled to her feet. She kept stumbling until the beating stopped and only curses followed her.

The cobblestones shifted beneath her feet. Flashes of color exploded in front of her eyes and she felt herself sway. Another distant thought told her that she was about to pass out again. She could not remember what her last meal had been. How many times had she fainted from hunger? Maybe this would be the last time. Maybe she wouldn’t have to wake up. Was that hope she was feeling?

“Now, Mistress, what are you...”

She did not know how long she had stood there, waiting for darkness to envelope her. Her eyes tried to focus on the speaker in front of her. She met his eyes and realized that he must be talking to her. Those dark eyes seemed concerned. His mouth kept moving, but she could only hear buzzing. He began untying his oiled cloak. Why would he do that? It was raining, wasn’t it?

She tried to flinch away when he grasped her elbow, but instead her knees buckled. Dimly, she was aware of something heavy wrapping around her before she lost consciousness.


	2. Taken to his mother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "He used to take in stray kittens, too."  
> Setalle Anan  
> Knife of Dreams, Chapter 9

Martine did feel something upon waking.

Disappointment.

She was still alive.

She was also inside. Eyelids heavy and only half open, she looked to find a slanted roof above her. The room was lit with an orange glow - from a fireplace, given the dancing shadows. Had it been night when she fainted? She had lost all sense of time, it seemed.

The fact that there was a fire going was confirmed by a soft crackle of kindling. Soft voices from somewhere on her right let her know that she was not alone in the strange room.

“– What do take me for, Mother? I’m the one who bloody –” It was the man’s voice.

_Thump!_

“Watch your language!” That was a woman - older. “What I take you for is a young man who has been frequenting half the taverns in the Rahad with the sort of men who ogle anything with a bosom that’s breathing,”

“I do not -!”

“Hush!” The older woman cut him off again.

A pause. “Now, see what you’ve done – she’s awake and the broth isn’t ready yet,” She said.

Martine closed her eyes but it was too late. Firm footsteps and a swishing skirt came to her bedside.

Bedside. She was lying in a narrow bed with heavy blankets tucked up under her chin. It was the first time she had laid in a real bed in… _months_. Not since she lost her horse in Lugard, along with the rest of her coin.

A callused hand cupped her cheek and turned her to face its owner. She was a middle-aged woman, gray streaking her dark hair, which was twisted up and pinned neatly back. Crows feet framed eyes that were trying to peer into Martine’s soul, but were also full of worry.

“It’s alright, child. I’m Mistress Anan and you’ll be safe in my home.” Her gentle voice was very different than the voice she had used with the man a moment ago. Martine’s only response was to start another coughing fit.

“Jasfer – you didn’t tell me she was so sick!” An arm wrapped around her shoulders and hoisted her up. Breathing immediately became easier. “Go get my mortar and pestle, a cup, the kettle from the fire, and my script – hurry now!” The woman commanded. The man, Jasfer, jumped and nearly ran out the door.

“There, now, don’t breathe too deep, child, or it will start all again.” A handkerchief dabbed at her face, then retreated.

In minutes, Mistress Anan was mixing herbs with practiced skill and sending Jasfer hopping for more things from the kitchen. Martine was propped up on a stack of pillows against the headboard, but she let her head loll to one side, facing the wall. Everything was still fuzzy in her mind. She could not figure out what these people were doing, but she was not strong enough to make them leave her be.

Suddenly, that hand cupped her face again and turned her toward a wooden spoon. She realized when the broth touched her lips that the woman was trying to feed her – to bring her back to health. Martine let the first spoonful dribble from her lips but fought the second.

“Here, what’s this?” Mistress Anan said sternly. “We need to get some food into you if you’re to get better, and by the looks of you, that means broth and tea for some time. I’ll not feed you bread and cheese just to have you sick-up all over my linens.” Martine turned her head away from the spoon to stare at the wall again.

“No…” She croaked. “I-I don’t want to get better.” Slowly the spoon retreated.

“So,” The woman said quietly, “That’s it then. That’s how you got to this.” She stood from her stool and walked across the room with those firm, sure steps. “You did right to bring her to me, although I admit she’s a might bigger than the strays you normally bring me.”

Jasfer snorted. “Not by much, she isn’t,”

Mistress Anan harried Jasfer out of the door with promises of supper if he came in a few nights, admonishments for drinking with street-toughs, and reassurances that the girl he brought her would be fine.

The door closed and the woman rounded on Martine. “Now, it is just you and I.” Her tone could be interpreted as a threat or a challenge. “I do not know why you have given up living, girl – right now you are too weak to tell me if I let you – but the ‘why’ does not matter to me.” She grasped Martine’s chin to make her meet her eyes. “Hear me when I say that I am a Wise Woman and you are my patient and I will not let you die in my care. Ah, I see you’re afraid – that’s fine to start, but you’ll feel more than fear by the time I let you off leading strings. Do we understand each other, Mistress ‘Wanderer?’”

Martine could only stare back at her, unable to formulate an argument with her thoughts clouded by apathy. Mistress Anan seemed to take that as assent and she nodded sharply. When Martine tried to pull away from the spoon, the older woman grabbed by the scruff of the neck and tilted her head back, forcing her to either drink or choke. After two coughing fits and part of the bowlful ending up spilled on the blanket, Martine was too exhausted to fight and the rest of the broth went into her stomach.

Her eyelids were becoming very heavy again. The callused hand of the woman smoothed back her hair, still a matted mess. “There, now, that wasn’t too hard. We’ll see if I can get a name out of you in the morning.”

Her name.

As Martine drifted into the soft darkness of sleep, a distant part of her mind pulsed with panic.


End file.
